


i wanna get stuck in your head

by calumshoods



Series: inspired by black mirror [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Black Mirror Inspired, Emotional Infidelity, Multi, Pining, Unrequited Crush, honestly this is really unsatisfying and kind of depressing sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 04:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10528713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calumshoods/pseuds/calumshoods
Summary: He slips out a five dollar bill, the only cash he has on him, and drops it into the guitar case. The guitar player looks up and smiles at Michael, his blue eyes lighting up with gratitude that he can’t voice in the middle of the song. Michael walks away before the song is over.or all of your memories are digitally stored in your head and michael can't stop watching his interactions with the blue eyed busker he sees every day





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from slow burn x state champs  
> inspired by black mirror 01x03
> 
> i recently started watching black mirror and i thought that the plot lines from each episode would be really cool to base a series off of, so here it goes. you don't need to have any prior knowledge of the show or anything like that to understand it so yeah enjoy!!!

Michael settles back into his bed for the night, his cursor in his hand. He rests his head back on the fluffy pillow in the center of his king sized bed and lets his pale limbs sprawl out across the white sheets. He spins his thumb over the cursor and his eyes automatically sink into a grey tone, looking almost like cataracts covering his irises. He rewinds to the memory in his grain.

It is in front of his eyes like he is reliving it again. He’s walking to work, his boring corporate sales job that he hates so much, but his head turns to the side, away from the path he’s walking on. The boy sits on a bench along the edge of the park, hair pulled back in a tiny bun, guitar perched on his lap, fingers strumming effortlessly, a soft, angelic voice passing his lips. Michael smiles in real time and in the memory. 

He walks towards the boy. There’s an open guitar case in front of him, a few dollar bills and some coins thrown inside. Michael’s eyes look away from the boy and down towards his legs. He pulls out a wallet — small and black and painfully thin. He slips out a five dollar bill, the only cash he has on him, and drops it into the guitar case. The guitar player looks up and smiles at Michael, his blue eyes lighting up with gratitude that he can’t voice in the middle of the song. Michael walks away before the song is over.

He thumbs the cursor and turns the memory off. His eyes return to their natural, light green color. A long sigh escapes his lips. Michael saw the same boy on his way to work nearly every single day, always in the same spot, always playing his guitar and singing, always calling Michael in like a siren. He never mustered up the nerve to stay to the end of a song, though, to wait around long enough to say hello. Maybe tomorrow, he tells himself, like he does every night after he replays their interaction from the morning. Michael thinks about the boy until his eyes begin to flutter off into sleep.

He wakes up momentarily in the middle of the night when his wife settles into bed.

+++ 

Luke drops his guitar on the sofa in frustration. It’s getting late and his callused fingers are getting sore from playing for too long. He wants to keep playing, though. Wants to keep working on the song he’s been trying to perfect for months so he can impress _him._

He kicks his feet up on the coffee table and pulls his cursor out of his pocket. He connects it to the TV — he prefers to see his memories that way, it makes them seem more like a movie, and he was hoping for a movie ending. His eyes are on the frets of the guitar when he presses play. The scene pans out as it does every day. Luke can almost sense him approaching, and when he notices the motion in his peripheral vision, he looks up to meet piercing green eyes. He smiles and nods his thanks as he drops a bill, he thinks it’s a five, into Luke’s case. 

Luke diverts his eyes, as to not stare at the boy, but he nearly winces when he sees him walking away out of the corner of his eye. He goes back to playing his song and tries to let his mind forget about him.

He flips the memory off on his cursor. He tilts his head back and stares up at the blank, white ceiling of his apartment for a few minutes, or a few hours, he loses any sense of time. After awhile, when his eyelids grow heavy with sleep, he tucks his guitar back into it’s case and sets it by the door so he can grab it on his way out the next morning. He shuffles his way to bed and settles into the too-big-for-one space. He aches for the warmth of another body, the sound of someone else’s breathing matching with his to lull him to sleep. He’ll have to do with simple thoughts of the boy with the bright green eyes, the small snippets of their short interactions from the past few months. It’s enough for Luke, though. His brain settles and lets him rest.

+++ 

Michael wakes up to the soft patter of rain drops on the skylight above his bed. Dark grey clouds loom in the sky and they have began to spill out their contents. Michael rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. Walking to work in the rain is miserable. He allows himself to grumble in bed for too long, weighing the pros and cons of calling in sick. When the list of cons outweighs the pros, he rolls out of bed. His wife, Elizabeth, stirs at the absence of his weight from the bed, but her eyes remain shut and her breathing remains steady. He hops into the shower, hoping the hot water will awaken his senses. It doesn’t.

He prepares himself a cup of coffee and toast with Vegemite when he makes his way into the kitchen. He was never much for breakfast. He fiddles with the top button on his dress shirt while he tries to keep his eyes open. He can practically feel the dark circles surrounding his eyes. He focuses on the subway tile backsplash in the kitchen, counting the pieces that fit together. He loses count around 28 every time. He considers flipping through his grain, looking at old memories of his friends or his family or the mysterious guitar player, but his cursor is in his bedroom and he’s genuinely too tired to make that walk. He sighs in resignation, then goes back to counting tiles.

Things were far from perfect in his marriage. The first year was great — they were in love and happy. Michael would stay up in the evenings until Elizabeth came back from her shifts at the hospital. Elizabeth would wake up early and eat breakfast with him before he left for work. They would spend their weekends together, going on dates and hanging out with friends and staying in for movie nights. 

And then the second year came around the bend and they stopped structuring their lives around each other. Michael was too tired to stay up and wait for her to come home. Elizabeth was too tired to roll out of bed with him in the morning. They were too tired to make love anymore, and if they did, Michael had to scroll back in his grain to better times and hope that she wouldn’t turn and notice his eyes faded to grey and replaying old memories. Elizabeth started taking shifts on weekends. Michael started going out with his friends without her. They were almost never caught in the house alone together. They both knew everything had gone to shit, but neither wanted to admit to the other that their 20 month long marriage was as good as done. So they just kept on pretending like it was okay.

The umbrella is tucked away in the back of his closet. He has to climb over a mess of shoes and discarded t-shirts to get to it, but he knows it’s there, and he isn’t about to get soaked on his way to work. He could take Elizabeth’s car, but that means he would have to wake her up and make sure it was okay, and he didn’t want to put her in a bad mood, so he leaves her alone. The walk is short enough.

It doesn’t dawn on him that the guitar player wouldn’t come out in the rain until he approaches the bench and sees it empty for the first time in three months. He nearly stops dead in his tracks when the sound of faint music doesn’t fill his ears. His mind does not automatically think of the rain, but when it does, he exhales a long, deep breath. Relief washes over him. It’s just the rain. He’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe Michael will make his move then. 

He tells himself he’ll watch the memory of the first time he noticed the boy playing guitar on the park bench later that night. He wants to feel that warm, love at first sight feeling again. He wants to pretend he isn’t stuck in a loveless marriage.

+++ 

Luke considers going out to play in the rain when he notices the weather. He really, truly thinks about ways to protect his guitar from the water when he can’t hold an umbrella and play at the same time. After fiddling around with an open umbrella on the couch for twenty minutes, he accepts that he’s just going to have to take the day off from playing, even if that means he won’t see his favorite supporter. He blames himself for opening the umbrella inside in the first place — it’s the bad luck coming to fruition immediately.

He tries to occupy himself by strumming his guitar, working on his song before his shift at the coffee shop. He can’t help but think about the boy, though. Luke wishes he knew his name. He says a silent prayer that some sort of sign will come to him, that something will finally change.

Luke believes in a God the second he sees messy blonde locks walking through the café door. He’s distracted and pays for it. He takes in a sharp breath when burning hot milk foam flows out of the top of the container and onto his hand. He quickly runs it under cold water.

“Ask that guy his name for the cup,” Luke hisses under his breath at his coworker on the register. She gives him a puzzled look — the café is nearly empty and there’s no way people would mix up drinks — but she does it. 

Michael. Luke stares at the name and order on the cup for maybe a little longer than he needs, but he feels like he’s made some sort of progress, some small feat in his hopeless pining. Luke makes the cappuccino with care. He takes his time making perfect foam and draws a cheesy smiley face on the top with chocolate syrup. He hopes it’s not too much.

“Cappuccino for Michael.” Luke looks up and sees the other boy, Michael, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. Green eyes meet blue ones and Luke can feel a tingle from his fingers to his toes. 

“Oh, hey, you’re the guy that’s always playing guitar,” Michael says with a smile. Luke’s eyes light up, actually, his whole face lights up. He recognizes him, he knows him. He is about to respond, about to say something about how Michael’s eyes are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and how he has wanted to talk to him for months but Michael _always_ walks away before he can, when a woman’s voice breaks his thoughts. 

“Mike, hey.” Her voice is like a bell. She stands up from a table in the corner. She’s wearing hospital scrubs in a pale blue shade that makes her eyes pop more. Luke can’t help but notice they’re nearly the same color as his. Her hair is dark, nearly black, and falls loosely over her shoulders.

Michael tenses up. It’s a very slight movement, but Luke is observant, especially when it comes to this boy. “Hey, Liz,” he breathes out. He’s uncomfortable. 

Another drink comes up on the bar and Luke begins to make it, but keeps Michael and this “Liz” in his peripheral vision. He strains to hear their conversation over the loud whirling of the espresso maker. 

They interact like old friends, exes, even, Luke notices. They stand a strange distance from each other, like they should be touching or something, but neither one wants to. They’re not talking, either. Just staring at each other, dead in the eyes. 

Luke goes to set down the drink he just made and call out the order. Something catches his eye, a glint, a sparkle, on Liz’s finger. Left hand. Fourth finger. It’s a wedding ring. Luke exhales slightly. She must just be an old friend.

He zones out from the conversation, no longer caring about what they’re talking about, or not talking about. “I’ll see you later,” she says to Michael. She retreats back to her table in the corner. 

“Thanks for this,” Michael directs towards Luke. “It’s great.” He holds the cup up in his hand, the same motion you do when you cheers, but Luke doesn’t have anything to cheers back. He does, however, see the shiny silver ring on Michael’s finger. Left hand. Fourth finger. It’s a wedding ring.

Luke begins to feel everything around him crash down. “Yeah,” he coughs out, his voice strained. It’s all he can manage to get out. He stares down Michael’s retreating figure, his body feeling heavy, like the world just took all of it’s weight and put it on top of him. It takes everything in him to not fall to the ground.

+++ 

Michael is so exhausted by the time his lunch break rolls around that he needs a caffeine IV drip. He heads into the break room, hoping that the pot is at least fresh and ready. He doesn’t think he can wait for coffee.

“It’s broken,” one of his coworkers tells him when he sees Michael walking towards to coffee pot.

Michael turns around. “You’re kidding,” he deadpans. 

“Café around the corner is pretty good and they’re quick,” he recommends. That’s enough encouragement for Michael — he’d be willing to pay $100 for a cup of coffee at this point.

The rain has stopped and Michael relishes in the overwhelming scent of wet concrete. It soothes him. The café is small and cozy and quiet when he walks in. It smells like coffee and fresh bread and something sweet that Michael can’t place. 

“Um, can I have a cappuccino?” Michael asks the young girl at the register. She smiles at him and nods. She scribbles something on a cup. 

“Can I have your name? For the cup?” she pipes, her voice squeaky.

Michael tells her and takes a few steps towards the coffee bar area. He keeps his eyes fixated on the ground, on his feet. He feels like a zombie. Probably looks like one, too. Soft jazz music plays in the background of the shop, but it’s muffled by the buzzing of the coffee machines. 

“Cappuccino for Michael,” he hears a voice call out. He picks his eyes up from the ground and they’re met by blue ones that look all too familiar. His heart skips a beat. 

It’s now or never, he tells himself. “Oh, hey, you’re the guy that’s always playing guitar,” he manages. He flashes a slight smile at the guy. He hopes he’ll remember him. 

The barista’s eyes light up slightly and Michael can practically see the wheels in his head turning. His lips part to say something, smooth and plump and bordered by a scruffy beard, but Michael’s focus is turned to something else, someone else.

“Mike, hey,” Elizabeth’s voice interrupts him. Michael can’t remember the last time he heard her say his name. It was strange — like when you see a picture of an old friend for the first time in 5 years and they don’t seem like a real person anymore. Michael lets his eye contact with the barista drift over to meet her eyes. Her eyes are the same as his, he notes. He has a weakness for blue eyes, apparently.

“Hey, Liz,” he says, feeling awkward in his own skin. It is a weird interaction. It shouldn’t be. They are married, they share a bed every night, but they are simply two warm bodies existing in the same space now. 

Their eyes remain on each other for far too long to be normal. Neither one knows what to say. Michael wonders why she would make her presence apparent in the first place. Liz wonders the same thing.

“We should talk. Tonight,” she says softly after the prolonged silence. Michael’s heart flutters in the same way it did on their wedding day. It’s nerves, he thinks. Michael can’t remember the last time they talked — like, actually talked. Not about their days at work or an aside about needing to go grocery shopping. A real, genuine conversation. And he thinks that’s what’s coming. 

“Okay,” he answers, his voice near a whisper. The barista calls out another drink and sets it down on the counter. Michael remembers his surroundings. “Gonna get back to work,” he musters. 

“I’ll see you later,” Liz replies. Her tone is calm, like she isn’t phased by the tension surrounding them. She retreats back to her table when Michael nods a response.

“Thanks for this,” Michael nods towards the barista. “It’s great.” He lifts up his cup in a mock cheers to express his gratitude. The smile that was on the other boy’s face instantly falls and his complexion pales. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. His voice is hoarse and doesn’t bear that same warm sound it has when he sings. Michael furrows his eyebrows and sets the reaction out of his mind. He turns and walks out of the café. He’s halfway down the block when he realizes he still doesn’t know the guitar playing barista’s name.

+++ 

Luke spends the night laying in bed, alternating between staring at the ceiling and playing the memory of his interaction with Michael on his grain. He considers deleting the memory a few times, but wiping your grain was the easy way out. Sure, the memory would still be stored in your head like things used to be, but being able to see it play out in front of your eyes made it _real_ for him.

He falls asleep early after he decides that he’s not going to sit on his park bench and play the next morning. There’s no reason for him to anymore.

+++ 

Liz is sitting on the couch when Michael gets home from work. She has a book in her lap — some science journal, no doubt. She looks up when the door creaks open. “Hey,” she says. Her reading glasses slip down her sloped nose.

Michael offers a tight lipped smile. “Gonna change and then we can talk?” he tells her, but his voice pulls up at the end because of nerves and it sounds like a question. Liz nods and Michael retreats to the bedroom. He pulls on an old t-shirt that definitely has a hole in the armpit and a pair of sweatpants. He’s thankful to no longer have a tie choking him.

“Who was that guy at the café today? The one with the coffee?” Liz questions Michael when he walks back into their living room. He trips over his own two feet and doesn’t attempt to make a smooth recovery. He sits down a few feet away from her on the couch.

“Oh, no one. I mean — I see him playing guitar on my way to work sometimes. He’s pretty good.” He tries to play it off like it’s nothing, but there must be a glimmer in his eye or a hint of fondness in his voice, because Liz pushes.

“Show me?” she asks, nodding her chin in the direction of the cursor in Michael’s lap. 

He presses his lips together in thought for a moment. He decides it’ll hurt more if he refuses to show her. He filters his memories by the time on the television, and dozens of thumbnails of Luke come up. Michael blushes when Liz turns her head towards him and raises her eyebrows. He ignores her and plays a memory from a few days before. It’s harmless. Michael drops a dollar into the boy’s open guitar case and walks away pretty quickly after. It wasn’t one of those $5 tip and linger for a little too long days. 

Liz is still skeptical. Probably because Luke’s eyes bore into Michael’s the entire time he’s standing there, even if it is just a few seconds. “What was that?” Liz raises her eyebrows after Michael turns his grain off.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Nothing. What did you want to talk about?” He changes the subject quickly. 

Liz hesitates for a second. A look of something — jealousy, maybe — flashes across her face. She takes a deep breath before talking. “We need to fix us. This isn’t okay. We don’t even _talk_ anymore. This is the most we’ve talked in _weeks._ ” He doesn’t say anything in response, just shifts awkwardly in his seat and waits for her to say something else.

A sigh escapes Michael’s lips, because, as much as he loved Liz, he wasn’t sure that they could “fix” whatever they had. 

“What?” Liz follows up when Michael continues to remain silent.

“I just don’t think we can fix this. Fix us,” he tells her.

“Why the fuck not, Mike?” She’s angry. She always had a short temper.

“Because —“ and he stops, because he doesn’t really know. Something in the back of his mind, something with long blonde hair and blue eyes and a scruffy beard and the voice of an angel, tells him that he does know, but he’s not ready to admit that yet.

“Just spit it out,” she barks. Her face is starting to grow red. Michael used to find that endearing. Now he just thinks it’s terrifying.

“Because I don’t think I want to.” The words are out before he can stop them.

“Do you even love me? Did you ever fucking love me, Michael?” She’s desperate for an explanation, an answer, anything.

“I did love you, Lizzie. I just — I just don’t think I do anymore.”

“Is there someone else? Is it that fucking guitar player?” Michael would have been scared of her if her voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. She’s upset. 

“There’s no one else,” Michael lies — to himself and to Liz.

“Fine, Mike. That’s just fucking fine.” She stands up from the couch and trudges into their bedroom without another word. “I’m spending the night at the hospital,” she tells him when she returns with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. She's slamming the door behind her before Michael can get another word in. 

Michael cooks himself dinner in silence, watches some TV, and retires to bed earlier. He replays the moment from the coffee shop earlier on his grain. His daily dose of guitar boy. 

He watches closely at the end, when the boy looked like he saw a ghost. Michael watches as he raises his left hand to thank him for the coffee. He watches it 10 more times, trying to find a sign. His eyelids are heavy by the time he gives up and decides that the boy just must have felt a little sick or something. He falls asleep, not focusing on the impending doomed end of his marriage, but the butterflies that form in his stomach every time he thinks about blue eyes and guitars.

+++ 

Luke is pouring cold brew coffee into a to-go cup when she walks into the café. She’s in hospital scrubs again, her hair pulled back in a severe bun that kind of looks like it hurts. Dark circles border her sunken in eyes. Her glance meets Luke’s and she makes a beeline for him.

“Are you sleeping with my husband?” She barks out when she reaches the coffee bar. Customers turn to stare, ready for what sounds like an impending fight.

Luke is so flustered that he almost drops the coffee cup he is setting down on the counter. He raises his eyebrows at Liz, utterly confused. “Excuse me?” he says defensively. 

“My husband. Michael. The guy that you were making eyes at yesterday? Are you sleeping with him?” she demands.

Luke’s face goes red and his world starts spinning and it feels like the puzzle pieces are falling into place. Michael is married to Liz. It makes sense, he guesses. As reality sets in, he stays quiet, which probably looks bad to Liz and the 20 other pairs of eyes that are watching them.

“How long?” she asks.

“I’m not sleeping with him,” Luke says softly. He’s scared of the short brunette standing in front of him. He’s got at least a foot of height on her, but she intimidates him.

She rolls her eyes. “Then explain what that was yesterday. The way you looked at him. The way you look at him when he sees you playing your guitar every morning. The way his face lit up when he talked to you. Explain that.” Her tone is even and calm, but Luke can see the building anger inside of her. 

“I don’t know,” Luke answers. “I don’t know how I can explain to you the way I look at him. It’s a stupid crush on a guy I had never talked to before yesterday, but you’re married to him. I’m not a home-wrecker.” Luke feels genuinely bad for no reason. He did nothing wrong, but Liz has a way of making people feel guilty for doing nothing. 

Liz purses her lips and stares at Luke for what feels like hours. Her blue eyes taking in his, wondering what she did wrong to make her husband fall in love with another man — because that’s what she thinks that look in both of their eyes was. Pure, inexplicable love at first sight. It was the same way Michael used to look at her.

She leaves the café without a word and Luke spends the rest of the day trying not to spill scalding hot coffee all over himself every time he thinks about Michael.

+++ 

Michael is a zombie at work for the second day in a row. The coffee pot is fixed, so he doesn’t have an excuse to go to the café. He doesn’t think he would do it, anyways. He thinks he needs a break from the boy. Until him and Liz sort everything out, at least.

His days begin to blur together. Maybe it’s because he can’t sleep at night or maybe it’s because he hasn’t seen his favorite blonde guitar player in days or maybe it’s because he hasn’t even seen his wife’s face in weeks. He falls into a steady routine — wake up, go to work, come home from work, try to sleep. His diet consists of coffee and more coffee to try to function, but his boss even sends him home from work a few times. Life begins to feel like an endless mundane cycle.

Michael comes home from work early one day and finds Liz in the bedroom stuffing her belongings into suitcases. He stands in the doorway until she notices him and practically jumps out of her skin.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters when she realizes it’s just Michael in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” he questions her softly. He doesn’t really know why his heart is hurting so badly — this is what he wanted. He wanted him and Liz to officially be over, to put an definitive end to what they both already knew was finished.

“I’m leaving, Mike. Staying with a friend until I get my own place.” 

Michael looks down at his feet. “Okay.” It’s all he can manage to say. He walks out of the room and out of the apartment. He isn’t really sure where he’s going. He lets his subconscious guide him down the street. He ends up on the park bench, the guitar player’s park bench, before he can realize where his feet are taking him.

He takes a seat and just watches. Watches people walk past, watches birds fly overhead, watches the wind whisk through tree branches. He loses himself in his thoughts. There’s still a dull ache in his heart, a hole where Liz used to be. He questions if it was the right thing to do — for him to give up on them. Especially now that the boy with the guitar seemed to be done with him. Or maybe he never had any interest in the first place. Maybe it was all in Michael’s head. That aching feeling for the love that he had once found with Liz was waiting to be filled again, and Michael projected it on the first person that looked at him. His world feels like it’s shrinking around him when he thinks about it. His reason for not working things out with his wife was never even a reason at all. He gets up off the bench and walks, borderline runs, home. They could still fix things.

He pushes open the door to the silent apartment, panting and out of breath. He rushes into the bedroom but finds it completely empty. A diamond wedding ring sits on the bedside table.

+++ 

Luke is miserable. He replays every single memory he has of Michael over and over and over on his grain. He can’t not think about him. He haunts every aspect of his life. But he can’t bring himself to go back out with his guitar. He can’t bring himself to ruin a marriage because he can’t contain his goo goo eyes. So he pushes on through a Michael-less life. He finds a new spot to busk — across town near his apartment where he doesn’t think he’ll see Michael. It’s not as great of a spot. There’s less foot traffic and the people are less generous with their tips and Michael isn’t there for him to look at.

He’s angry, though. Sure, he’s upset that what he thought he had with a mysterious boy with a tie and a briefcase was all a hoax, a game played by a married man, but mostly, he’s angry. Angry at Michael for playing with his heart. Angry at himself for thinking that he could have been loved by someone like Michael. Just angry.

+++ 

Michael’s loneliness makes him think about the guitar player. His apartment is consistently silent now. The subtle sounds of Liz coexisting in the same space as him no longer filter through the air. The only noises he can hear are ones he makes.

He wishes he knew his name. It’s weird for him — feeling so close and so attached to a person who he really doesn’t know. So, one afternoon, he decides that he’s going to change that.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be working at the café. He could have quit or gotten fired, for all Michael knows. It has been months since the first and last time he saw him there.

He’s behind the register when Michael walks in. His long blonde hair is down, framing his face in soft blonde curls. His beard is as scruffy and soft looking as ever. When his eyes meet Michael’s, they look sad and dead. Emotionless.

“Hey,” Michael breathes when he approaches the register.

“What can I get for you?” He’s short with his response, but something behind his blue eyes reads pain. 

“A cappuccino. And your name.” 

The boy looks up at him. He looks angry, annoyed, hurt. “You’re married.” 

Michael realizes what the emotion he’s feeling is, but he can’t quite put it into words. He’s mad at Michael for leading him on, only to find out he was married. Upset with himself for wanting him. Self-hatred for going after a taken man.

“Not anymore,” Michael answers quietly. He’s embarrassed. He’s not really sure why, but he’s cheeks glow bright red against the rest of his pale face. 

“Luke.” 

“What?” 

“My name. It’s Luke.”

“Luke.” Michael nods his head. It’s a fitting name. 

“It’s $3.50.” 

Michael pays the boy and lingers around the register for a minute. Luke ignores his presence. He walks out of the café without a word when his drink is ready. Whatever he thought they could have had, it’s gone. 

Michael deletes the memory from his grain when he gets back to the office. He doesn’t want to be able to remind himself of how badly he messed everything up.

+++ 

Luke starts busking in his old spot again. Some days, he sees Michael walk past. Their eyes meet from time to time, but Michael never stops to listen, and Luke never looks at him for too long.

One day, Michael does stop. He drops a $20 bill in Luke’s guitar case. The overwhelming sense of anger and frustration and sadness returns. He can barely muster a smile when he thinks about how Michael toyed with his feelings.

That night, Luke deletes every memory he has of Michael from his grain.

**Author's Note:**

> come tell me how bad this is on [tumblr](http://cashtonjpg.tumblr.com) thanks love u bye xoxo


End file.
